


And All At Once, I See Your Face

by caviarandqueen



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Brothels, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crossdressing, First Kiss, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29466315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caviarandqueen/pseuds/caviarandqueen
Summary: I sighed, cold water dripping from my face. My father wanted me to marry Lord Mullen's daughter, Christiana. It's not that I didn't like her, Idid, just...perhaps not as much as I should have.Perhaps not at all.The thought snuck into my head, and I forced it out.But the thought of Frederick, all done up as he had been, crept back into my mind, eating away at my more productive thoughts, taunting me.You admire him.And there it was. I was done for.
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 22
Kudos: 15





	1. Summer Holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire fic is inspired by the tags in [this post](https://astrophysicist-guitar-god.tumblr.com/post/643134614746120193).

Summer 1770

My carriage pulled in front of the summer house and stopped. A footman got down from his perch at the back of the carriage and opened the door for me, and I stepped out onto the drive, pebbles crunching beneath my shoes. As I walked to the house, other servants came running out, some to take my luggage, others to open doors, still others to greet me.

"Oh, Master Celsus is 'ome!" Dinah exclaimed, running out of the house and very nearly crushing me half to death with her embrace. "We've missed you, boy."

I smiled as Dinah released me. "I'm glad to be home, Dinah."

The plump woman beamed and turned back towards the impressive stone mansion. "Oy, Samuel, Stephen! Come get Master Celsus' things!" She bellowed, and two young men, not much older than I was, came running from the house at the nursemaid's call. Samuel was much smaller than me, thinner, with a constant ragged, hungry appearance. Stephen was more muscular, with a crisscross of scars that networked across his bare back, and the constant smell of horses about him.

Dinah looped her arm with mine. "I'll conduct you to your father."

"Dinah, as much as I would love to see my father again, I have just come all the way from Oxford." I reminded her. "And I'm rather tired. Perhaps at dinner?" I suggested with a smile. The nursemaid nodded, and escorted me to my room instead, then barked orders at the other servants not to disturb me, as "Master Celsus came all the way from Oxford, you know, and 'e works so 'ard, let 'im sleep!".

I chuckled, sat on my bed all alone in my room. Peace and quiet returned to my mind again, and I considered for a moment taking out my books and reading. I had just purchased a first edition of Sir Isaac's _De mundi systemate_ which I had been wanting to read for some time now. Yes, why not? Read until dinner, just to take my mind off the inevitable questions my father would ask.

"Have you seen Lady Mullen lately? Whyever not? When will you get your head out of your books and out of the clouds and settle **down** , boy?" Then would come the inexorable lecture on marriage. My head hurt just thinking about it, and I marked the place I left off reading to gently rub my temples.

I wanted to tell my father the truth, whatever that was. The truth. I put my book on my bed and crossed over to my writing desk, thinking. What was the truth, this time? That I preferred studying to women? He knew that, **everyone** knew that. I had come back home to spend the summer in London, to escape the stifling heat and the incessant business of Oxford during this time of year. But I had a feeling, somewhere deep within me, that I was about to discover something that would turn my perfect world upside down.

\---

A footman knocked on my door as the clocks struck seven to inform me that my presence was requested at dinner. So, I left the comfort and solace of my room for the dining room.

As much wealth and prestige as my family had, the dining room was by far the coldest room in the house, despite the numerous candles on the table, and the roaring fire kept going in the fireplace behind my father's chair.

We had just finished dessert—a lovely dish of strawberries and cream—and my father was sat back with his glass of port, about to take a sip, when he had stopped, and set his glass down. Looking down at me, he asked, slowly, deliberately: "How are your studies going, my boy?"

To say I was only a little taken aback would have been an understatement. "Very well, Father. I think I'm on the cusp of a breakthrough." I smiled, and to my sheer astonishment, my father smiled back.

"You were always so bright, just like your mother." He seemed in a sentimental mood tonight, not at all like his usual thunderous self. He looked across the table at me. "Chrysostomus—" He began.

"Don't call me that." I stopped him, and he shut his mouth. "You know I hate that name." I stood, excused myself from the table, and left for my room.

I poured water into a porcelain washbasin, dipped my hands into it, and ran my hands over my face. I had left off my blue velvet jacket, and had undone the button at the collar of my white shirt, opening it up. The water felt refreshingly cool after the burning heat of the dining room. I thought for a moment about wetting my hair, then thought against it, as it took hours to dry, and I wanted to sleep before midnight tonight.

Had I been too harsh? My father rarely mentioned my mother, and I couldn't blame him. She had given birth to a stillborn daughter, whom my parents called Ruth Louisa, after my mother and paternal grandmother, only a few years before my own birth. She had died when I was only a baby, just a few months old, and Dinah raised me, becoming the mother I never had. My mother had written to my father, on one of her many voyages, that I was to be named Chrysostomus, "golden-mouthed". A ridiculous name. Celsus was much better; it was shorter, and Latin, much easier than the difficult Greek of my birth name.

I finished my pity-party and went to bed, hoping tomorrow would be better.


	2. The Molly House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're about to meet someone very special...
> 
> Comments are loved and always replied to!

As I was about to go to London the following day, Samuel and Stephen approached me. Stephen spoke, as Samuel stayed a little ways back.

"Have you ever been to the Beryl Tavern, Master Celsus?"

I shook my head. I didn't drink if I could help it, I hated what the stuff did to me.

"Oh, you should go today." Stephen continued, approaching the carriage door, getting a little bolder. "You would like it."

"I'll make a note of it." I nodded, and gave the word to the driver. "Thank you, Stephen."

The stable boy retreated back to where Samuel stood, both waving as the carriage pulled away.

The Beryl Tavern? Well, I would try just about anything once, so why not this? I gave my driver the name of the place, and away I went.

\---

The carriage pulled in front of a green-painted building on a particularly busy street in the centre of London. A sign swinging from above the door told me I was at the right place. I took a deep breath and opened the carriage door, stepped out onto the crowded street (right into a pile of horse poo), and watched glumly as my carriage pulled away. There went any escape to freedom.

Steeling my nerves, I pushed open the door, carefully avoiding patches of peeling green paint, and entered the tavern.

Men and women filled the large front room. It was warm and dark, a perfect contrast to the rain and cold outside. The room buzzed with chatter as beer flowed freely, a string quartet played at the back of the room, and at the back corner, a sizable group were gathered around what I presumed to be a table. I made my way to the bar, ordered a flip made with water and orange peel instead of the customary beer and brandy, and sat at a table near the back, where I could see and hear what was happening at that other table.

"And I _told_ Mr Casanova—I _really_ did, you know—I _told_ him, 'What a horrible thing to say to a lady, Signore Casanova, shouldn't you be _ashamed_ of yourself!' And I left him right there, got myself out of the theatre and came here, back to London, where I belong!"

There were cries and cheers and roars of laughter as the woman finished her story. Men pounded on the table, some spilling their beers and others whooping in excitement as the women giggled and screamed with delight. A few broke away, allowing me to look at the woman who had put everyone in such a good mood.

She wasn't so pale as some of the other women, and her hair seemed real enough, dark curls piled around her head, a loose curl tickling her shoulder. She had a black beauty mark in the shape of a heart near the corner of her right eye, and she wore a stunning light blue silk dress. She caught me watching her, and, excusing herself from the table, made her way to me.

"You're new here." She stated as she sat next to me. "Matilda Brisbane."

I finished my flip, took her offered hand in mine, and kissed it. "Celsus May."

Her eyebrows perked up. "Ooh, May? You must be Lord Humphrey's son, then? I've _heard_ about you." Her lips were painted a light pink.

"What have you heard?" I asked, leaning ever so slightly forward.

Matilda smiled and gripped my hand a little tighter. "Let's go to one of the rooms in the back. I can tell you there." She stood and, with my hand still in her's, lead me to a room at the back of the tavern and closed the door behind us. "Ugh, now that's done." Matilda kicked her shoes off into a corner of the room and sat on the bed which stood in the centre, her hands no longer holding mine, going to her hair, which she removed entirely.

I stood in shocked amazement at the scene which played out before my eyes.

Matilda's hair was a wig, which hid a head of closely cropped black hair. The dress and stays and petticoats and pockets were removed, along with a pair of cotton and wax breasts, and the little freckle I had so admired. Then off came the bum roll and hoops, the silk stockings and velvet garters, and a man was sat before me, in only his drawers!

The more I looked at him, the more familiar he seemed. _Where had I seen him before?_

He noticed me staring at him, and burst out laughing.

"Oh, my poor man, you _really_ thought—I mean, I know I'm convincing, but not _that_ convincing!" He laughed and laughed, all the while dressing in a very smart suit of light yellow silk. He washed the makeup from his face and sat again on the bed, the only place to sit in the whole room. "I take it you've never been to a molly house, then?" He asked, still smiling.

I shook my head, still a little shocked. "N-no, we don't have them at Oxford, and I only ever come to London for holidays." I sat next to him, still unsure who he really was.

He nodded. "They're quite common in London, but the Beryl Tavern is the best you'll find." He chuckled. "Oh, I've forgotten to introduce myself. My _real_ self, that is, though, not that Matilda isn't real..." He took a deep breath and looked at me. "My real name is Frederick Virgo."

If I told you my jaw hadn't dropped, I would be lying. "You—you're...?"

Frederick nodded. "The crown prince, the heir to the throne, the future ruler of heaven and earth?" He smiled, almost bitterly. "Yes, I am he and he is me." His smile carried much more mirth to it now. "And what, pray tell, is the only child of Lord Humphrey May and Lady Ruth Campbell doing in such a queer place like this?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celsus the entire time "Matilda" is undressing: 


	3. Oh, What Fun!

"I'm here because a servant suggested I come here. I didn't know it was a—what was it?" I asked, not sure if I'd heard the name of the place correctly.

"A molly house." Frederick smiled. "It's a place like this, where men like us can meet in relative safety."

"Right." I nodded, frowning a little. "What'd'you mean, _men like us_? I'm not—" I began, but Frederick laughed.

"You're _here_ , aren't you? So you must be—" He began, smiling.

" _What_?" I tried not to sound accusatory, he _was_ my future king, after all.

"—like me." Frederick finished, his hands going to his lap. He looked defeated, as if he already knew this was a futile conversation.

"Like you." I repeated. "However do you mean? I'm not royal, you know that."

"No, no, not that at all." Frederick said, waving a hand dismissively. "I mean, _queer_." He said the word in such a way that I could not possibly misinterpret his meaning. "Look, come, I'll show you." He stood, and went to the door, unbolting it and peering his head out. I stood and followed suit.

"Look." He said, and I looked.

I saw the same people as before, both men and women, drinking, telling stories, listening to the music, some going off to private rooms.

"What do you see?"

"I see people, the same as before. There's nothing different about them."

"Look harder." Frederick's breath was hot and tickled my ear, and the warm press of his body against mine sent a shiver up my spine.

So I looked harder, straining my eyes to see in the dim light of the candles around the place. _There it was! That was it!_

"You see?" Frederick asked, and I could _hear_ the smile in his voice, the giggle to his tone. "The women aren't really women, they're men who enjoy dressing up in women's clothes. I do it as a safety measure, can't have the prince associating with _riff-raff_ and _scum_ like that, no no." The way he said it made it clear he was mocking someone. "And besides, it's _fun_. Some of my own men are here."

He was grinning now, I could tell. "Which ones?" I asked, genuinely curious. He pointed under my arm (as he couldn't reach over my shoulder) to a woman, slight and blonde, her hair pulled up in a fashion that Marie Antoinette would have greatly admired, near the front of the bar. "That's Roger Taylor, one of the drummers in the army. He's here because his old lady's kicked him out again." Frederick laughed. "He married a Frenchwoman, can you believe it? My father tried to get him expelled from the military, but I threatened to flee to our New England colonies and never return. And since my sister's married, the kingdom would have fallen out of our hands, so I won, in the end." Frederick grinned. "And there," he pointed to a small, brown-haired man stood near our door, "is John Deacon, my personal bodyguard. They're both here for protection, in case something goes wrong." The prince explained.

"You brought a drummer boy—" I started.

"No, no, Roger's a trained solider! He's also a drummer, but that's only when no one else can do it. It just sounds less threatening to tell people, 'Ah yes, that's my drummer.' If everyone knew I travelled with a personal bodyguard _and_ a personal soldier...I don't even want to think about it!" He laughed and led me back into the room as the door closed behind us. "Now, all this fuss about you—" He sat on the bed again, and I joined him. "Do you like women?"

I flushed pink at the boldness of the question. "I-I, yes, I suppose so—"

" _Suppose? Suppose?!_ 'Well might one suppose...'" He began, colour rising in his own cheeks.

A knock at the door interrupted his outburst, following by some very colourful words. Frederick sighed and turned back to me. "I'm sorry, I've got to do this, it comes with the territory." He stood, and took hold of one of the headboard posts, knocking it somewhat forcefully into the wall, as moans and groans escaped his lips like a prayer. The whole performance lasted no more than a few minutes, and it all culminated in a jumbled mess that sounded something like 'Oh, you're _too_ good to me~', before it was all over, and the prince was sat on the bed again, not the slightest blush to his cheek, as if nothing had happened at all.

I sat there, my mouth hanging open like a fool, utterly shocked at what had just played before my eyes and ears. But Frederick just grinned like a madman. "That's what these rooms are for, after all," he said, by way of explanation. "They're for _marrying_ , and for the things that come after marriage." He wiggled his eyebrows, and laughed when my cheeks burned red. "Oh, if you could see your face! Well, I've got to make it _sound_ like we're fucking, or someone's going to get nosy." Frederick's smile turned into a grin when I clapped a hand over my mouth.

"Is _that_ why you brought me here?" I asked, incredulously. "To-to-"

Frederick placed a hand on my knee, which had an instantly calming effect on me. "You asked what I've heard about you. Come back tomorrow and I shall tell you." He smiled, and took a ring from his finger, one of several silver rings he wore. He placed it on my little finger. "Take this for now. You can return it tomorrow."

"What is it?" My words came breathlessly, nearly caught in my throat.

"A promise. That you will return, and that I will tell you what I know." Frederick pressed his lips to my cheek and went out the door, leaving me quite alone, with quite a lot to take in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, "old lady" has been used to mean wife [since at least 1599!](https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/old%20lady)


	4. Feelings of the Heart

The wait until tomorrow felt like torture.

I returned to the mansion still befuddled by what had just taken place, while simultaneously having the identity crisis of the century.

I twisted the ring on my finger all through the rest of the day and into the night. I couldn't concentrate on my studies for the thoughts racing through my mind.

_What did he mean by that kiss?_

I sighed and closed my notebook, turning my eye from my telescope. _Stars be damned._

I gave the ring another twist, then stopped when a twitch of red-warm pain settled in my stomach. I looked at my finger and removed the ring to see that a band of irritated pink skin had bloomed underneath the ring. The sight of what I had done and feeling in my stomach sent a thrill through me. So _this_ is the effect Frederick had on me. I washed my hands in warm water and soap scented with olive oil, rubbing at the wound I had made as I applied milk of roses to my hands. It was a woman's oil, but after the events of the day, I didn't really care.

_Have you **ever** cared?_

The thought interrupted the pleasant nothingness going through my brain, and I stopped short, my now-smooth hands held out before me.

_Your mother and sister died, and you have to play daughter and son to an uncaring, overbearing father. Now you've met the prince, and you're_ _considering_ _—_

"Enough!"

I rubbed my temples as my head pounded. Whatever all this meant, I could find out tomorrow.

\---

I endured another sleepless night, and went to the Beryl Tavern the next morning, under the pretense of meeting a friend at a nearby bar for breakfast.

"So," Frederick began, cool as ever. We were sat on the bed, he was done up as Matilda again, this time in a light green silk dress. "You want to know what I know about you."

"Yes." I said, and I found myself breathless again, as if I were doomed to breathlessness in his presence. "Please." I played with the ring again before I slipped it off, admiring it. "It's very pretty," I started, trying to shift the subject, if only for a few moments. "An interesting design." The ring had a flat face, on which a capital V was flanked by two fairies, one sat, the other stood. I handed it back, reluctantly. How badly I desired to keep it, to be called Frederick's, his own—

"It's the family crest. Like yours is a crab." He smiled, and our eyes met. "Oh yes, I know much more about you than you think, Lord May." His hand was back on my knee, immaculately manicured fingernails glinting in the candlelight. "Ours are fairies. Father thinks they're silly things, but," Frederick shrugged. "He's a silly old man!" He lay back on the bed, which creaked horribly as I joined him. "When _I'm_ king," he placed a hand on his chest, "everything will make more sense. Love won't be illegal, being yourself won't be a crime. People can go about as they please. Much more _fun_ that way." Frederick turned on his side, all his weight (what little of it there was) supported on one side, and I did the same. "Now, what do you want to know?" He wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

"I would like to know _why_ you like **me** so much." The words tumbled out without a thought, and I clapped a hand to my disobedient mouth. "Highness, I—"

Frederick shook his head. "Don't worry about it." He laughed. "I like you because of who you are. For one, you're so impossibly tall, and I like impossible things. And you're very very smart, and I like smart people. I'm going to fill my court with smart people and impossible things." He beamed, a hand now on my shoulder, brushing my hair out of the way. "And because you're very pretty." A light blush came to his cheek, and he licked his lips as he finished, and our eyes met again. Something warm and bubbling settled in my stomach, and he closed the space between us by pressing his lips to mine.

His lips were sweeter than any wine I had ever tasted, sweeter even than Dinah's famous chocolate cake. My hands flew instantly to his hips, they were small and slim, almost what I imagined women's hips to be like. He pulled away, and we were both flushed and a little breathless.

"I know you like me." Frederick stated simply, playing with a loose curl. "I can see it in your eyes. And—" he smirked, "elsewhere." He giggled as a red-hot blush spread across my face, and I sat up, scrambling to hide my embarrassment. "It's nothing to be ashamed about. If you had known me a few years ago, oh Lord, my father nearly sent me away again because I was a fiend." He smiled.

"You?" I asked, satisfied with a coat thrown over my breeches. That would have to do, for now at least. "The prince of England, a fiend?"

"Yes, me." He was beaming now, and I could tell that this was no longer a painful subject for him. "I could hardly stop. Drew my father nearly mad with how many servants he had to replace." Frederick giggled again, and my heart leapt into my throat. "But I never _ever_ got a girl kicked out for a lying-in, oh no."

"Why _me_ , though? You could have literally anyone in the country, anyone in the **_world_** for that matter, and yet you've chosen me. I don't understand."

Frederick only put a hand to my shoulder again. "You will. In time." He pressed another kiss to my cheek and stood. "I shall send for you, soon. Until then, don't come back here."

"But—" I began, as a horrible sinking feeling began to take root over my stomach and heart.

"Don't. Your king commands it." He spoke with such authority, I only nodded.

"Yes. Of course." I placed a hand over my heart and bowed.

"You will know when we are to see each other again. Until that time," Frederick was closer to me now, closer to the door too, "know that you have my love."

That was all the promise I needed then, and I returned home, a little saddened, a little joyful, for that day's events.


	5. A Royal Dance

I went the next several weeks in a kind of haze, eating and sleeping only because they sustained me, not because I desired to. Even then, my mind was not fixed to the task at hand—the food seemed to stick to my stomach, and my mind fuzzed like a glass of hot flip when I slept.

I threw myself into my work, studying until the sun came up and sleeping until noon. My meals were brought to me by Dinah, who worried and cooed over me like a mother hen. I assured her I was fine, but she wasn't convinced. When next I looked into the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. My eyes were bloodshot, my hair even more unkempt and untamed than usual. I went about trying to care for myself when there was a knock at my door.

"Master Celsus, Lady Mullen is calling on you."

The footman's words startled me, and I nearly dropped my straight razor, slipping it instead on my jaw. I pressed a handkerchief to the bleeding spot and opened the door.

"Tell her I'm ill, I cannot possibly see her, and she cannot see me in this state."

"But, Master Celsus—"

"Go!"

I closed the door and sunk down on it, the culmination of the past weeks weighing heavily on me.

"What has become of me?" I asked the empty silence.

\---

A letter arrived for me still some weeks later. The footman who delivered it couldn't tell me who it was from, but I took it all the same. It was sealed with white wax, no crest or signet gracing it.

_Celsus,_

_Forgive me, this absence must be awful for you. I cannot pretend to know your exact pain, though I must confess I feel something like it myself. Here is something to help, something I've been working on at the tavern. It's missing something, I can't quite put my finger on it..._

_All my best,_

_Matilda_

The letter was written in a neat, looping script. I reached into the envelope, and found several sheets of paper, most covered in bars and staffs and notes. I made to grab my English guitar, the funny thin thing I had made at Oxford some years ago, which I had just managed to smuggle it under my father's nose this time around, when I thought against it, and got my violin instead. The music was profound and beautiful, delicate yet complex, and I felt the violin would better suit it than my crude guitar playing. Even with though my violin playing was much better than the guitar, the piece was set for a whole orchestra. But, taking the whole into account, I crafted what I deemed to be a fitting solo piece for the violin into the existing work, wrote the notes down on a separate piece of paper, and all the music went into an envelope sealed with dark green wax, which I pressed my signet into, admiring the fiery crab which sat on the capital M.

_Matilda,_

_Perhaps something like this will do. I miss you more with each passing day. Tell me the time is soon._

_The world and more,_

_Celsus_

The reply did not come for a few weeks, in the form of a pure white envelope, sealed with gold wax and bearing the royal crest.

"We have been invited to a royal ball." My father announced over dinner that night. "I expect you will go."

"Of course, Father, but you will come with me?"

"No, I am too old, no one wishes to see me dancing." My father took a drink of his port. "Besides, I haven't danced since 1739."

A lump rose in my throat, and I excused myself from the table to retreat to my room for the night. I had to prepare my costume, and as much as I wanted to go a penguin, I knew I would never be able to live down the shame my father would undoubtedly heap upon me for appearing at _**the royal ball** dressed as a **penguin**_.

I would have to go with my owl mask after all.

\---

I travelled to the ball by myself, my stomach twisting and untwisting itself in knots the entire way.

When we pulled up to the palace, a footman asked my name and where my family lands lie. I told him as I exited the carriage, adjusting my mask as I walked up the stairs to the ball room. When I reached the landing, the master of ceremonies announced: "Lord Celsus Horatio May, of Middlesex!"

There was some applause from a few of the nobles and lesser royalty who filled the room, which sparkled from the light cast down by the candlelit chandeliers. I descended the stairs, and was greeted by a woman wearing a cat mask. The mask only covered half of her face, her mouth and chin were caked in porcelain-white makeup, her lips painted light pink. I had seen that same shade of pink before, but I allowed myself to focus on her mask, which had gold details. One eye was black, the other red, and her forehead had music notes painted on it. Her dress was made of gold silk, covered in gold roses. Her dark hair had yellow roses woven into it.

She extended a hand towards me. "Hello, Lord May."

My stomach dropped, for I _knew_ that she was no woman.

"Are you mad?" I hissed, as I pressed her hand to my lips.

Matilda only giggled. "No, I'm a cat~!" She pressed even closer to me, so only I could hear her drop the feminine tone in her voice. "Take me out on the floor, there's something I _must_ tell you."

I did so, guiding her to the centre of the room as the band began playing a slow waltz.

"What is it?" I could scarcely hide the tremor in my voice, from excitement at being in Matilda's presence again, to the slight panicky fear that we could be exposed at the slightest slip-up.

"I'm going to be married soon." He sounded almost bored.

"Well that's wonderful news, why would—"

"To a _woman_. I _can't stand_ her! I'd rather run to the south of France and live with you forever."

"I-I- _what_?!"

"I've already made the arrangements."

Because his life was so much easier to escape from.

My blood threatened to boil. "I have a _life_ here! I have friends, I am my father's heir, I go to Oxford, I'm practically betrothed to Lady Christiana Marguerite Mullen, _in case you've forgotten_ —"

"Do you _really_ love her?" He looked up at me in that knowing way of his, as if he could read my thoughts.

"I used to believe so. Now I'm not sure." I confessed quietly.

Frederick just laughed and kissed me for the second time in my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCFnzSCzoYA) is as close as I can find to what I imagine an 18th century orchestral version of BoRhap would sound like. Just replace the trumpet solo with a violin solo like in [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1nGx4DX83U) video.
> 
> I knew I wanted to include a masquerade ball, but I had no idea what Frederick was going to go as. Then I saw [the gnaga mask pictured here](http://slowitaly.yourguidetoitaly.com/2013/01/carnival-of-venice-types-of-venetian-masks/) and everything about the gnaga is absolutely perfect! Queer men, crossdressing, cats! The fact that _that_ particular mask has music notes on it! [This webpage](https://www.camacana.com/en-UK/the-gnaga.php/) explains more about the gnaga mask and costume, and [this webpage](http://www.delpiano.com/carnival/html/gnaga.html) includes an 18th century drawing of a gnaga.
> 
> Celsus' owl and penguin masks are based on [Brian's bit in I'm Going Slightly Mad](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/10/bc/5a/10bc5a759aaa66d70d2aca32e4ddc5ec.jpg) and [his owl mask](https://brianmay.com/brian/brianssb/brianssbnov20a.html#12) to celebrate the release of the steampunk owl viewer.


	6. The Decision

I awoke in my own bed, cold and alone, the events of the night and early morning replaying themselves through my mind.

_It all happened. It **really** happened._

I smiled, playing with the gold band Frederick had given me. It lay perfectly on my finger, a promise that I would seriously consider his offer.

_His offer._

Leave everything and everyone I knew behind, go to the south of France, _marry him_ , and live happily ever after. Forget ankle-peeping and secret stable kisses, we were far past all that now.

I sighed, cold water dripping from my face. My father wanted me to marry Lord Mullen's daughter, Christiana. It's not that I didn't like her, I _did_ , just...perhaps not as much as I should have. _Perhaps not at all._ The thought snuck into my head, and I forced it out.

But the thought of Frederick, all done up as he had been, crept back into my mind, eating away at my more productive thoughts, taunting me. _You admire him._

And there it was. I was done for.

I spun the ring on my finger, careful not to irritate the skin this time. I thought back to when Frederick gave me the ring.

We had been lying in his bed, a great thing in its own right, made all the greater by the way he curled into me, catlike. I had been stroking his hair, something I had discovered only a few hours prior that he loved, when he announced:

"I have a present for you." He smiled up at me.

I immediately flushed pink. "Frederick, you didn't have to."

"Of course I did, I intend to marry you, I have to give you something." He removed the gold ring he always wore on his right pointer finger and slipped it onto my right ring finger. "Promise me," he said, looking at me, "that you will think on my offer."

"I promise." And _I_ had kissed him.

I smiled and shook my head, getting out of my bed to begin preparations for the day.

\---

My carriage pulled up to the Beryl Tavern for the first time in weeks, and I practically flew through the establishment on my way to our room.

I found Frederick sat on the bed, playing with the lace cuffs of his shirt. It seemed almost odd to see him in such a public place, after the many private and intimate moments we had shared last night and into the morning hours.

"You came~!"

I blushed. "Yes, I-I did." I took a deep breath. "I've come to a conclusion."

"And?" Frederick stood, adjusted his yellow silk coat, and walked over to me, his eyes bright and curious.

"I accept."

Frederick beamed, and stood on his tiptoes to kiss me. Even with the heels he constantly wore, he still needed added height to reach my lips. I chuckled against his lips and kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realized that Frederick is literally that old 'get you a man who can do both' meme.


	7. The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait! Life caught up to me, and I didn't have as much time to write as I thought I would. But here is the long-awaited chapter!

I awoke in a kind of hazy stupor. _Was this really all real?_

I looked out the window. How different France was from England! The hills here were green and rolling, and the sea was nearby, I could almost smell it.

There was a knock at the door, and two servants entered. It was all I could do to keep from collapsing to the floor with nerves, as the servants dressed me in the cream and white silk suit Frederick had chosen for the occasion.

Then I had to wait. At the altar. By myself. That was the worst part: waiting in a cold, empty church, except for a priest whose unscrupulousness was questionable.

But after what felt like forever (it was only ten minutes), Frederick entered the church, wearing a pure white suit, a white lace cravat around his neck.

\---

We emerged from the church wed. A new ring glistened on my right hand, bearing a V hidden in an M, with two fairies flanking the letter and a crab above. I smile as I admired it.

"I had it made especially for you." Frederick smiled, kissing my hand. "I designed it myself."

"Did you?"

The carriage jostled and bounced as we were driven to the ocean. Frederick nodded. "You needed a worthy present."

I laughed. "As if a palace and your eternal love aren't enough!" I shook my head, and kissed him.

\---

We sent the rest of the day and much of the evening by the seaside, talking, looking at the ocean, taking in the reality of what had just taken place.

"I suppose you can't return." I stated, sat on an outcropping of rock near the edge of the sandy dunes.

"No." Frederick didn't sound sad about that. "You can't either."

Our hands brushed, as if we were still the shy boys we had been only a few months before, dancing around each other.

"No, I can't." I took his hand in mine. "My father..." I swallowed, blinked, then continued. "left the house to Dinah. She'll know what to do. And she's promised we can visit whenever we want, as soon as..." My voice became lost in the sea and the wind.

Frederick nodded, and kissed my hand. "I love you."

"I love you too."


	8. Epilogue

Autumn 1770

Soon after our wedding, Frederick got it into his head that he wanted a baby, and so I found myself writing to royals and nobility about the possibility of the prince of England raising one of their blue-blooded children.

Day after day went by with no reply. The days turned into weeks, then months. Frederick grew more and more impatient every day, sometimes by the minute.

" _Patience_ , my love." I held his hands in mine, stroking my thumb over his knuckles, not caring that I now had ink on my hands. Frederick had just sized my next-favourite inkpot (which I had been using) and thrown it against the door, smashing it to pieces. He then proceeded to sink into an overstuffed blue velvet armchair and bawl his eyes out. I comforted him as golden ink dripped down the white wood of the door and began to pool onto the expensive wood flooring.

I had never seen him this emotional, this volatile.

Suddenly, there came a knock on the manor door, and I stood. "Come, my dear, let's go see who it is."

Frederick sniffled and nodded, and we walked out of the room and down the hall, towards the front door, where a servant stood talking with a red-haired man who stood outside. The door closed as we approached it, and the servant turned, jumping a little when he saw us.

"Your Graces," he bowed, and I became aware that he held a small bundle in his arms. "For you." He smiled and handed me the bundle, which moved and made a sound. I uncovered some of the deep red cloth that covered it, and gasped.

"Frederick, look!"

My husband turned his head, melancholy still thick about him, and cast his eyes down at the bundle I held, which made another small noise, and reached up for him.

"Our baby." Frederick spoke, breathless, in awe that the miracle he had waited so long for had finally happened. He took the child from my arms and pressed a kiss to the small forehead before him.

The servant smiled, and spoke. "He's from India. He has an English father and a Hindu mother."

I looked at our son. _Our son_. "What shall we call him?" I pushed the blanket back a little, exposing the baby's little ears and his head of black hair.

"Fabian. He will be Fabian May Virgo." Frederick looked up at me, grinning. "Our son, Celsus. _Our son!_ "

I bent down and kissed Fabian's head. "What a perfect name for a perfect boy." I held Frederick close and pressed a kiss to his hair. I turned to the servant. "Who were his parents?"

"Sir David is his father. After his wife's death, he couldn't care for the child by himself, and he knew of Your Graces' desire for a child, so he decided to give him to Your Graces before his return to England."

I nodded and dismissed the servant, who bowed low and returned to another part of the manor.

\---

In the coming days, things began to fall into place with Fabian. A maid had recently had a child of her own, and offered to feed our son until we could give him solid food. Frederick and I saw this as much better than being reduced to give Fabian cow's milk, so we agreed. Frederick threw himself into the care and raising of our son, doting on him nearly incessantly. On the same day we had Fabian christened, Frederick had awoken early to personally oversee Fabian's dressing and grooming, applying a black charcoal-like stuff to our son's eyes before the ceremony.

"What's that?" I had asked, having never seen anything like it.

"Just something my family does." Frederick had said, shrugging. "I don't really know why, but I felt like I should put it on Fabian too. He looks so cute in it, too!"

Fabian turned at the sound of his name, smiling. I had to admit, the stuff did bring out Fabian's brown eyes. I smiled and kissed his head. He really looked more Frederick than me, which I didn't mind. And he made Frederick so happy.

\---

We stayed in France until the spring of 1775, when Frederick was summoned by his father back to England. We packed up our things and took Fabian back to England, where we waited out the war with the American colonies, and avoided entirely the revolution in France that followed. My father died on the last day of 1799, as did Frederick's father. Frederick gave the crown to Fabian, preferring that our son rule instead of him, and so, on 1 January 1800, Fabian May Virgo became the King of England. He was 32 at the time, and happily married to Sir Mark's son Royal; they made Frederick and I grandparents through their adoption of the son and daughter of a distant relative of Royal's. Antoinette and Valentine were so happy to see their Baba all done up in his regal regalia that they forgot themselves and climbed upon his lap while he was still sat on the throne!

Fabian laughed, his children's giggles mixing with his and reaching to the highest heights of the abbey, no doubt rattling the saints' and angels' ears. "Children! Baba's working!" He laughed and Royal came up, scooping the children into his arms and holding them close. "Let's go to see Grandbaba and Grandfather, hm?" The children pouted, but allowed themselves to be taken to where Frederick and I sat in the abbey, now secluded from everyone else. As soon as they were put down, they ran to us, giggling. "Grandbaba, Grandfather!"

I picked Valentine up, putting the boy on my lap. "Grandfather, will you show me the stars tonight?"

I smiled. My love of astronomy hadn't rubbed off on Fabian, but Valentine seemed to have inherited it. "Of course I'll show you the stars, Vally. You remember where to go?"

The boy nodded. "On the roof, only after dinner."

"That's right. And?"

"And only if Father and Baba say yes."

"And they will. I haven't seen your baba this happy since he married your father." I smiled, and turned to Frederick, who was planning a dress-up party with Antoinette. He stopped, and turning to me, kissed me.

"This is our happily-after-ever, isn't it?" He asked, eyes still bright as ever.

"Yes, my love, it is. I'm so grateful I get to spend it with you."

I kissed him back, our rings glinting in the coloured sunlight that streamed in from the stained-glass windows.

_This is what forever feels like._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir David is David Bowie, and Sir Mark is Marc Bolan; I couldn't not work them in somehow! Royal is Marc's son Rolan.


End file.
